Exit bear, pursued by an actor.

(SPOILERS) Paddington
2 is every bit as upbeat and well-meaning as its predecessor. It also has more
money thrown at it, a much better villain (an infinitely better villain) and, in terms of plotting, is more
developed, offering greater variety and a more satisfying structure. Additionally,
crucially, it succeeds in offering continued emotional heft and heart to the
Peruvian bear’s further adventures. It isn’t, however, quite as funny.

Even suggesting such a thing sounds curmudgeonly, given the
universal applause greeting the movie, but I say that having revisited the
original a couple of days prior and found myself enjoying it even more than on
first viewing. Writer-director Paul King and co-writer Simon Farnaby introduce
a highly impressive array of set-ups with huge potential to milk their absurdity
to comic ends, but don’t so much squander as frequently leave them undertapped.

Paddington’s succession of odd jobs don’t quite escalate as
uproariously as they might, his messy encounter with the fearsome Knuckles (Brendan
Gleeson) isn’t drawn out quite long enough before the latter becomes his
protector (albeit Knuckles remains pleasingly gruff for longer), an incident
with Buchanan dressed as a nun (featuring the returning Farnaby, running with a
classic British comedy riff as he is once again infatuated by a man in drag: “Stop the stunning sister!”) speeds by
too quickly, and the sequence in which Buchanan discovers Mr and Mrs Brown in
his house needed an ever so slightly more outlandish explanation for their
presence to knock it out of the park. Compared to the Brown household mishaps
in the first movie, the inspired chase involving a skateboard and a policeman’s
helmet, Mr Brown (Hugh Bonneville) dressed as a cleaning lady, or the marvellous
use of the over-used Mission: Impossible
theme (or even just the burst of Hello
when Peter Capaldi’s Mr Curry first claps eyes on Nicole Kidman), and the
sequel is more jackdaw but less sustained in its hilarity.

This time round, rather than a dedicated taxidermist, a
pop-up book holding a treasure map fuels the plot, although really, it’s simply
about the little bear spreading his values of openness, honesty, politeness, inclusivity
and marmalade to all he meets, and touching even the hardest of hearts with his
uncommon genuineness. This aspect can’t be faulted, unless you take objection
to the Harry Potter-by-way-of-Richard
Curtis presentation (or, as King puts it “Mary
Poppins-like”): the tourist’s dream of a cosy, beatific, perpetually cheery
London.

There are a few
teething issues, truth be told; the first quarter of an hour is content to
amble in the otherwise risky manner of a picture that knows it has a captive
sequel audience, and the flashback detailing how it was Paddington came to be
adopted by his aunt and uncle is only necessary to those who assume people go
to follow-ups without first seeing the original.

But once King gets underway, he keeps us thoroughly diverted
until the final act, at which point he ratchets the pace – and tension – up a
gear for an all-out duelling train chase. His greatest achievement is how much
we care for the CGI bear, though. Indeed, the chase culminates in a sequence rivalling
any tearjerker for pathos, whereby Paddington looks set to succumb to a watery
grave. Ben Wishaw’s contribution to the success of these movies can’t be
understated either, giving voice to a gentle, unaffected bear who always puts
others first, but it’s in the supporting players that these pictures flourish
their colour. And top of the pack is Hugh Grant.

The only disappointment of Grant’s performance is that his
best scene is left until the closing credits (a show-stopping, behind-bars musical
performance that goes down a storm). He’s reminding us throughout, for any who
refused to pay attention over the last two decades, what a talented comedic
actor he is. Buchanan, a vain, washed-up thesp reduced to doing dog food
commercials (dressed as a dog, eating dog food), sees the chance to produce a frightful-sounding
one-man show (“An evening of monologue
and song”) with the loot the pop-up book leads to, and pulls out every dastardly
stop to achieve his goal, and a succession of goofy disguises and accents.

Grant switches from ingratiating charm to gleeful villainy
with utmost ease, and also does a better ham Poirot than Sir Ken (and let’s
face it, ham Poirot is the way you want your Poirot), as well as walking atop a (moving) train more convincingly than Sir Ken. There’s great enjoyment
to be had from his hack actor dropping in of references to theatrical
luminaries (“Larry”) and a succession
of Shakespeare quotes (“Screw your
courage to the sticking place”) and misquotes (“Exit bear, pursued by actor”. Well, mis-stage directions).

Possibly even surpassing Grant is Gleeson, who fits the
cartoonishly foreboding prison like a big hairy glove. It’s with Knuckles that
the picture’s redemption arc resides; he’s effectively required to accept
Paddington and ultimately be his champion and rescuer much in the manner of Mr
Brown in the original, a change of heart you can see half an hour off but which
is no less satisfying for that when it comes. King is clearly having the most
fun in this setting, transforming stir into a pleasant, pink-fatigued,
plant-strewn patisserie off the back of Paddington’s mood-alerting menu for
marmalade.

The New Statesman would have you believe Paddington 2 forwards a “welcome anti-Brexit message” (it must be
a terrible burden to get your jollies from enthusing over the perceived
politicisation of family movies – provided they fit your own political
perspective, naturally) on the basis of Buchanan hating working with others, so
it’s gratifying that King and Farnaby nursed no such intent, instead namechecking
Capra – suitably as the picture feels like it comes from a different era –
while getting in a dig at Star Wars
along the way (“The need for kindness
transcends all political debates…. I think Paddington is about seeing the good in everyone, and trying to break any of those
deadlocks”).

It’s actually only Mr Curry who’s offered no redeeming
aspects, although Capaldi makes the part a dishevelled delight – he’s much better
in this than as the Doctor, although he can’t really be blamed for the latter,
except perhaps for taking the part knowing what Steven Moffat inflicted on Matt
Smith – and if they ever remake Steptoe and Son (they’ve done Porridge, after all), he’s a shoe-in for
a dirty, lecherous old Steptoe Sr (with a mutton-chopped Smith as his Alfred?)

In expanding the cast and canvas, the regulars aren’t quite enabled
to make the most of plot threads introduced and subsequently resolved with
nothing in between. The kids are now difficult teenagers and not quite as
effective (J-Dog, indeed), while Bonneville continues to tap his flair for
comedy as Mr Brown, just not quite as productively this time; occasionally, a recurring
gag is on the lazy side (Henry’s biker days). Occasionally, even when it’s lazy,
it’s still very funny (his meditation practice coming in handy while stretched
amid two speeding trains).

Sally Hawkins is ever adorable as Mary Brown, but
where before she was Paddington’s empathically ardent supporter, now the whole
family are. Julie Waters is a national treasure at this point, so immune to
criticism, obviously, but as I mentioned in my review of the original, I much preferred
her in slightly mental mode as Harry Hill’s nan. She does deliver of the best
lines, however, warning, without winking, that “Actors are the most evil people on the planet”.

Other notables in the cast include Tom Conti as a
cantankerous judge – understandably so, given what Paddington did to his hair –
put in his place by an exasperated wife, Joanna Lumley as Buchanan’s agent,
required to deliver an old (but amusing) “Nice
buns” riff, and Richard Ayoade offering expert testimony on marmalade. Wolfie,
the dog Paddington initially gives chase to Buchanan on also turns in a fine
performance, although it did set me wondering, in Pluto and Odie fashion, why
some of the animal kingdom can speak and not others.

Dario Marianelli’s score wallows in poignancy more than Nick
Urata’s original, reflecting the slightly less irreverent tone. Erik Wilson
ensures the visuals pop (his distinctive lensing was also brought to bear on
Ayoade’s directorial efforts), but most of all, King shows himself to be one of
those rare TV directors – and even rarer TV comedy
directors, step forward also Edgar Wright – with genuine cinematic flair. Paddington
2 looks great, a step up even on the impressive original, and King’s as
comfortable staging an elaborate, expertly-martialled train chase as a flamboyant
musical number. I’ve seen him compared to Wes Anderson, but much as I love
Anderson’s work, that really only applies to his talent for the tableau; King’s
otherwise for more kinetic in sensibility. Indeed, I’d love to see him take a
crack at a more faithful Fantastic Mr Fox;
I’m sure he’d do it justice. Perhaps after Paddington
3.

Labels

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Vampire Academy (2014) My willingness to give writer Daniel Waters some slack on
the grounds of early glories sometimes pays off (Sex and Death 101) and sometimes, as with this messy and indistinct
Young Adult adaptation, it doesn’t. If Vampire
Academy plods along as a less than innovative smart-mouthed Buffy rip-off that might be because, if
you added vampires to Heathers, you
would probably get something not so far from the world of Joss Whedon. Unfortunately
inspiration is a low ebb throughout, not helped any by tepid direction from
Daniel’s sometimes-reliable brother Mark and a couple of hopelessly plankish
leads who do their best to dampen down any wit that occasionally attempts to
surface.

I can only presume there’s a never-ending pile of Young
Adult fiction poised for big screen failure, all of it comprising multi-novel
storylines just begging for a moment in the Sun. Every time an adaptation
crashes and burns (and the odds are that they will) another one rises, hydra-like,
hoping…

The Avengers 4.3: The Master Minds The Master Minds hitches
its wagon to the not uncommon Avengers
trope of dark deeds done under the veil of night. We previously encountered it
in The Town of No Return, but Robert
Banks Stewart (best known for Bergerac,
but best known genre-wise for his two Tom Baker Doctor Who stories; likewise, he also penned only two teleplays for
The Avengers) makes this episode more
distinctive, with its mind control and spycraft, while Peter Graham Scott, in
his third contribution to the show on the trot, pulls out all the stops,
particularly with a highly creative climactic fight sequence that avoids the usual
issue of overly-evident stunt doubles.

Altered Carbon Season One
(SPOILERS) Well, it looks
good, even if the visuals are absurdly indebted to Blade Runner. Ultimately, though, Altered Carbon is a disappointment. The adaption of Richard
Morgan’s novel comes armed with a string of well-packaged concepts and futuristic
vernacular (sleeves, stacks, cross-sleeves, slagged stacks, Neo-Cs), but
there’s a void at its core. It singularly fails use the dependable detective
story framework to explore the philosophical ramifications of its universe –
except in lip service – a future where death is impermanent, and even botches the
essential goal of creating interesting lead characters (the peripheral ones,
however, are at least more fortunate).

Darkest Hour (2017)
(SPOILERS) Watching Joe Wright’s return to the rarefied
plane of prestige – and heritage to boot – filmmaking following the execrable
folly of the panned Pan, I was struck
by the difference an engaged director, one who cares about his characters,
makes to material. Only last week, Ridley Scott’s serviceable All the Money in the World made for a pointed
illustration of strong material in the hands of someone with no such
investment, unless they’re androids. Wright’s dedication to a relatable Winston
Churchill ensures that, for the first hour-plus, Darkest Hour is a first-rate affair, a piece of myth-making that barely
puts a foot wrong. It has that much in common with Wright’s earlier Word War II
tale, Atonement. But then, like Atonement, it comes unstuck.

Dreamscape (1984)
(SPOILERS) I wasn’t really au fait with movies’ box office performance until the end of the ‘80s, so I think I had an idea that Dennis Quaid (along with Jeff Bridges) was a much bigger star than he was, just on the basis of the procession of cool movies he showed up in (The Right Stuff, Enemy Mine, Innerspace, D.O.A.) The truth was, the public resisted all attempts to make him The Next Big Thing, not that his sly-grinned, cocky persona throughout the decade would lead you to believe his dogged lack of success had any adverse effect on his mood. Dreamscape was one of his early leading-man roles, and if it’s been largely forgotten, it also inherits a welcome cult status, not only through being pulpy and inventive on a fairly meagre budget, but by being pretty good to boot. It holds up.

The X-Files 11.1: My Struggle III
(SPOILERS) Good grief. Have things become so terminal for Chris Carter
that he has to retcon his own crap from the previous season, rather than the
(what he perceived as) crap written by others? Carter, of course, infamously
pretended the apocalyptic ending of Millennium
Season Two never happened, upset by the path Glen Morgan and James Wong, left
to their own devices, took with his baby. Their episode was one of the greats
of that often-ho-hum series, so the comedown was all the unkinder as a result. In
My Struggle III, at least, Carter’s
rewriting something that wasn’t very good in the first place. Only, he replaces
it with something that is even worse in the second.

The X-Files 11.2: This
(SPOILERS) Glen Morgan returns with a really good idea, certainly one
with much more potential than his homelessness tract Home Again in Season 10, but seems to give up on its eerier
implications, and worse has to bash it round the head to fit the season’s
“arc”. Nevertheless, he’s on very comfortable ground with the Mulder-Scully
dynamic in This, who get to spend
almost the entire episode in each other’s company and might be on the best form
here since the show came back, give or take a Darin.

Split (2016) (SPOILERS) M Night Shyamalan went from the toast of twist-based
filmmaking to a one-trick pony to the object of abject ridicule in the space of
only a couple of pictures: quite a feat. Along the way, I’ve managed to miss several
of his pictures, including his last, The
Visit, regarded as something of a re-locating of his footing in the low
budget horror arena. Split continues
that genre readjustment, another Blumhouse production, one that also manages to
bridge the gap with the fare that made him famous. But it’s a thematically
uneasy film, marrying shlock and serious subject matter in ways that don’t
always quite gel.

Shyamalan has seized on a horror staple – nubile teenage
girls in peril, prey to a psychotic antagonist – and, no doubt with the best
intentions, attempted to warp it. But, in so doing, he has dragged in themes
and threads from other, more meritable fare, with the consequence that, in the
end, the conflicting positions rather subvert his attempts at subversion…

The Shape of Water (2017)
(SPOILERS) The faithful would have you believe it never went
away, but it’s been a good decade since Guillermo del Toro’s mojo was in full
effect, and his output since (or lack thereof: see the torturous wilderness
years of At the Mountains of Madness
and The Hobbit), reflected through
the prism of his peak work Pan’s
Labyrinth, bears the hallmarks of a serious qualitative tumble. He put his
name to stinker TV show The Strain,
returned to movies with the soulless Pacific
Rim and fashioned flashy but empty gothic romance Crimson Peak (together his weakest pictures, and I’m not forgetting
Mimic). The Shape of Water only seems to underline what everyone has been
saying for years, albeit previously confined to his Spanish language pictures: that
the smaller and more personal they are, the better. If his latest is at times a
little too wilfully idiosyncratic,
it’s also a movie where you can nevertheless witness it’s creator’s creativity
flowing untrammelled once mo…